Inevitable
by Cheria
Summary: Roswell and Rosary speak of fate and the future... the results aren't as good as they could have been.


Disclaimer: I do not own Yggdra Union nor any of its contents, Sting/Atlus does.  
"That which cannot be avoided is fated to be, no matter the balance of fair or unfairness."**

* * *

**Extra notes to keep in mind (or refeshers), because as we all know, some stuff have been tweaked to fit the story's general plot.

**01** The House of Branthese and Esmeralda trace back to a common ancestor, Valois, a powerful magician with unmeasurable power. However, the houses have been on bad terms lately due to political reasons as they are vying for more power and authority.

**02** Roswell is two years older than Rosary. Therefore, the gap in age must be noted as this is a background fanfiction, meaning Rosary is fourteen with Roswell being sixteen here.

**03** The rose brooches might be for symbolizing whatever houses the two represent, as the colors are according to their title (ex: Rosary is known as the White Rose, with a white rose brooch pinned around her breast). Though, strangely, Roswell's is maroon-ish even though his title is Black Rose... it's most likely to make the pin stand out more.

**04** Roswell is a rather single-minded individual, seeing as how he was bent on revenge after Rosary invaded his land in the game. On the other hand, Rosary is a free-willed young woman, though if you do ever get on her case, she'll get in your face in return.

**05** In the civil war they are fighting each other for Ankhs as shown in the game, those being magical objects that cless magicians with tremendous power. So, they're amplifiers.

**06 **While he is referred to as "Lord Roswell" in the game, he is called "Master" here, as his mother and father are still alive and healthy.

* * *

It was only natural to take advantage of the situation, she reasoned. A torn Rosary absentmindedly curled her hair strands with a thin index finger, contemplating the events that was unfolding before her. But another side of her mind was silently lecturing her on the decision being wrong. Then again, it wasn't everyday Rosary was blessed with the opportunity of learning from an equal. Or at least she thought so.

Today, she decided, was going to be a long day for many reasons. Sighing, the White Rose raised her lithe form from the seat she had previously sat lazily on, her twirling finger leaving the silky curtains of her hair strands. She stood there for a certain amount of time, glaring at the fancy table in front of her until her gaze blurred, suddenly daydreaming for no apparent reason. Two sides of her argued with one another in her head, caught up in a verbal war as to whether or not Rosary would attend the planned meeting.

_It's only a visit to the Black Rose Manor. _A small smile crept into her elegant features.

_But that's the enemy's territory!_ Her expression vanished, and instead her petite brows furrowed in nuisance.

"Oh, what am I doing," she snapped, "Might as well go and see him. It won't do any good to keep a man waiting, whatever reason it may be." With a flick of her wrist a clean, unused broom (officially deemed "the lucky broom" by the White Rose) found itself in her gentle grip, hardening ever so slowly as she rested herself onto it. "… It simply isn't lady like, anyway." Rosary's feet left the polished floor, her body suspended in the air as the broom led her out of the White Rose Mansion through a window decorated with peach, satin curtains.

* * *

The soft taps invading his closed windows was more than enough to catch Roswell's attention, and he dismissed the desire to roll his eyes from the disruption. After placing a white velvet bookmark accompanied by a pink silk string (courtesy of Rosary who claimed that his own had been "too dull") to remember the page of his book, he left his once occupied seat. Pushing aside the dark curtains with a pale hand, he was greeted with a massive amount of white and pink.

As always, Rosary was in her fancy white dress, layers of different shades of pink evident beneath the bright material. The monotone sleeves covered her arms entirely, ending at the witch's fair-skinned wrists, where her nimble – and beautiful – fingers was elegantly curved. A short pink top covered her shoulders down to the end of her breasts, where a white rose brooch was safely secured, marking her as one of the Esmeralda house. Fancy gold decorations surrounded the pin, the soft contrast of colors allowing the brooch to shine even more despite its already enticing glow.

Her large white hat with peach laces was nestled on her luxurious, light mocha hair. The gorgeous strands spooled onto her shoulders, further making a journey down to the middle of her back. Rosary's eyes was a mix of peach and pink, a beautiful blending of two similar colors that expressed the emotions the witch was presently enduring. Which was, by all means, impatience with a tint of demand for something.

Blinking twice, Roswell quickly snapped back to reality when his guest suddenly frowned in annoyance.

"Well, are you going to let me in or not?" She demanded, her voice muffled from the windows that stood between the witch and the necromancer. "It's rude to keep a lady waiting!"

Nodding, the pale-haired youth unlatched the lock on his window, pushing the curtains completely to their respective sides to allow entrance for the already impatient girl. Rosary quickly flew in to refrain from being noticed by anyone, landing gracefully as she leaped off of the broom.

Roswell placed the locks back in place, turning to face his acquaintance, "… I didn't think you'd come."

"Why would I have not come?" Rosary countered, "And this is hardly the hello I was expecting, especially from someone like _you_."

He shrugged. "We're from different houses – ones that aren't doing so well together now, at that – and it would only have been natural if you didn't come. Besides, you would've been held back if words on our meeting was to spill."

Only two facts registered themselves into the White Rose's mind - one; Roswell had just ignored her comment on greeting her properly, and two; he seemed to assume that her parents had her on a leash. Oh, yes, she wasn't pleased with both. And so her temper flared like a wildfire with no means of control.

"But it's _my_ choice to come or not – neither my mother or father have the right to stop me. You should know that I'm no _dog_." She snapped, dropping onto the Black Rose's bed with arms crossed. "And I wouldn't be stupid enough to reveal this sort of secret."

"Of course not." Roswell reasoned, proceeding to seat himself as well, except on the chair he had recently occupied, "But you do realize it's troublesome for me to hide the fact as well, don't you? Constantly making up lies to cover up the truth isn't easy once too much is said."

Rosary huffed, "It shouldn't be too hard for you – you're as conniving as can be!" A short moment of silence followed, but like glass shattering from high-pitched singing, she broke it, "If you're so worried that someone will find out, then why don't we meet somewhere else, anyway?"

"Leaving the manor is harder than you think." He defended, fiddling with the bookmark that poked out of the book's closed pages.

"It's hard for me too, not just you."

"…. …. …."

Eventually, Rosary turned to see Roswell giving her a rather strange look, as if something about her wasn't quite right. She raised a brow impatiently, supplying her own expression of demanding "why he was looking so rudely" at her. She could tell he stifled a sigh as he waved a hand in her direction.

The Black Rose quickly changed the subject with a new topic, "… Your hat's out of place." He looked back to see the White Rose who hastily fixed her hat, fuming.

"Why, _thank you_." She sarcastically remarked, crossing her arms again as each finger drummed against the limbs.

* * *

It took a moment for Roswell to fully calm Rosary, though when he managed to finally do so, it paid off. She acted as if the commotion had never even occurred, and that was something the Branthese child was grateful for. She wasn't one to hold grudges, anyway. That was – according to the White Rose – his "job".

And there they were now, still seated in the same spot of their choice as Rosary looked expectantly at Roswell.

"Well?" She spoke up, a tone of slight curiosity making its way to the surface.

"…. …. …." A blank face was all that was etched on Roswell's features until the message fully registered, "Oh, yes, of course. You're inquiring on why I requested your presence here today."

"That's right." The White Rose started. "Now if you would. There must be some other reason as to why you called me here besides wanting to share some knowledge on magic. It seems too loose stringed otherwise."

Over the years of knowing the younger child, Roswell had come to conclude that Rosary was not one to be easily fooled. More often than not, she caught up on the secret processes no matter what it was on. Perhaps it was because she herself often used such manipulating tactics, though the necromancer doubted she was a professional in that category. After all, she always did refer to him as the conniving one of them both. True, he _did_ take advantage of his situations through manipulative and – sometimes – twisted means, but he always did make sure to never let it go out of control. One thing was for sure, however; Rosary was not one to attempt sidestepping.

He knew it was a bad idea, but he decided to hold it back, "Yes, that was a fluke to lure you to the manor… I'll tell you the real deal after I show you a little something. Rest assured, the details will come soon."

Rosary refrained from pouting, instead unwillingly following suit to his plans with a wave of her hand, "Fine. But you have to keep your word and tell everything later."

Nodding, the necromancer opened the table's small drawer that almost appeared nonexistent from its unusually petite size. As he dipped his gloved hand in to reach for an object, Rosary curiously attempted to take a look into the small entrance, though Roswell's form hid the view well, his back being all she could actually.

It was then that she took in the way Roswell was garbed this day. As usual, he was dressed in the long violet shirt of his, with pants of the same color accompanying it. The clothing was, obviously, made of expensive material, fit for one of nobility. The white outlines surrounding the inner clothing was clean as always, not a speck of dirt forming around its surface. Despite being indoors with not a single servant near his chambers, the necromancer had his maroon rose brooch pinned on the center of his chest, fancy yellow markings surrounding it. The usual black gloves covered his slim fingers, shining with a glow that told of its good condition.

His dark, saturated cloak was resting on the chair beside the table, the red skull hanging limply from its corners. Such piece of fabric made Roswell's build look bigger than he really was, and it only served to cover up more of his slightly pale skin. His barrette was placed on the corner of the same furniture, just sitting there in its solitary glory with its own spotlight.

The witch turned to face the necromancer, whose back was still pointed towards her as she finally came to note his hair, finally without the hat that more often that hid the quality of those strands. Like she, Roswell possessed caramel hair, made up of many thin, long strands that barely passed the nape of his neck. With each movement he made, the dull golden strands swayed in the same direction, and Rosary couldn't deny that his hair was truly something remarkable. Then again, his bright blue eyes weren't bad either -

- _Wait, why in Fantasinia am I rating his looks…?_, she shook her head from the odd reaction.

The abrupt noise of the drawer being closed brought her back to the world in front of her, and she looked up to see Roswell approaching her with a book, which he soon handed her. The White Rose observed the cover of the novel, bound in dark leather with gold outlines, though the clashing colors wasn't hard on the eyes. The leather was soft and felt good to touch, her fingers told her that much. It was a tiny book in terms of height, but the width of it was quite impressive for its overall size. She looked at Roswell with a questioning glance, raising her brow like she had earlier a few minutes ago.

"Why don't you read it and see for yourself." He recommended, and Rosary did take to that action. Or she was going to, until she registered the scene before her.

As usual, she was seated on the favorite side of the necromancer's comfy bed, though the difference in the common picture was that Roswell was leaning towards her, so near her face that it irritated the witch to no measure. Her brows narrowed, face scowling in a way she always made sure not to do as to not make lines on her forehead. The fingers that was just about to open the book's cover left the pages, shutting the cover softly.

"Do you mind? You're closer than you have the right to be."

Without a word, the pale-haired teenager removed himself from before her, instead going back to the seat by his desk, books and written papers littered over its surface, but in an organized way that Roswell often arranged it. Giving a content smile, Rosary went back to pulling the book's cover open. Bright eyes darted back and forth; skimming quickly through the contents of the novel as the sound of turning pages was evident. Abruptly, without any hints of slowing down, her petite hands stopped flipping the sleek pages of the obviously brand new novel.

"This is…," she began, only to not finish the sentence she had meant to start.

"It's the rare book you were looking for last time." Roswell replied, fidgeting with the bookmark on his own novel again, "You were quite upset in our last meeting; you said you couldn't find a copy due to its obscurity. I just happened to stumble across it the other day, so I gave it a go." His fingers stopped playing around with the object he had been given, turning to face the White Rose, "I finished reading it just yesterday – it's a good book, I can see why you were hunting for it.

You might as well have it. Unless, that is, you already purchased your own."

The witch shook her head, "No… I haven't gotten my own edition yet."

"Then it's yours," Roswell replied immediately, "My gift to you."

Despite the fact that she was happy to receive what she had failed at finding just a few days ago, Rosary wasn't quite fond of simply taking something without a good reason. "But… _why_?"

The Black Rose leaned towards her from his seat, which was only a few feet from the bed, close enough for Rosary to see her own tiny reflection in his bright orbs. "Because," he started softly, "You'll be fifteen years-old tomorrow." He straightened back up, slim back hitting gently against the back of the chair. "And I wanted to get you something for that good day."

She was silent, but only for a moment, "… You could have given it to me tomorrow, then." The logic of his didn't make sense to her at times, though she had a prediction as to why he decided to give it to her in advance.

"The bond between the houses of Branthese and Esmeralda have been strained lately for plenty of reasons," Roswell reasoned, "Even a visit to your manor is difficult to organize. As you know, the same applies to you.

It's a sad result, considering we are both descended from a common ancestor…" His voice left him in his drawl, and Rosary put up her own answer to compensate.

"… Valois." She shook her head. "All right, I admit that that isn't what's bothering me. What does irk me in its own way, though, is how you even _know_ it will be my fifteenth birthday tomorrow. I don't think I've ever told you recently."

Roswell waved a hand from the chair, "Not recently, but you did tell me once when we were children, back few years ago."

"So… you still remember, even after all that time." Now that he mentioned it, she did have a vague memory on telling him of her birth date…

* * *

"_Roswell!" A six year-old Rosary approached the magician-in-training who glanced at her with a raised brow._

"_What is it?" He questioned. "You're busting with more energy than usual today."_

_The soon-to-be witch flashed a proud smile, "Tomorrow, I will be seven," she began, "Which means, for a certain amount of time I'll only be a year younger than you."_

_So, Roswell concluded, she was happier with being just a year below him in terms of age rather than having an entire celebration and day of blessings filled with gifts. He certainly had to make an effort to not chuckle at the thought. Rosary was a prideful girl, doing so would only naturally hurt that blooming confidence._

"_Oh? That's wonderful news." The boy made a mental note in his gifted mind, marking the date to write down later in a calendar or something of the sort._

"_Yes, it is." Rosary spoke politely, most likely from the influence of being of high status, though the smug expression she wore didn't quite accompany the sweet tone well. "But more importantly, I'll be a more accomplished mage than you could ever be, sooner or later." The difference in age had somehow abruptly taken a turn to a case of superiority in magic. Roswell was quite bewildered for a moment at the sudden change, though he was soon looking amused at Rosary the next._

"_I see…," he started, "Then I will await that day, whenever that may be in the future. Good luck with that goal…"_

* * *

"Of course," Roswell responded, peering out the closed window as a look of longing flashed rapidly in the depths of his orbs, going by unnoticed by the White Rose, "… I'm still waiting for that day, you know."

Rosary looked at the man questioningly, "It's hard to believe you're waiting for someone to actually _surpass_ you. You're a proud magician, hearing that from someone like you – no, _especially_ you – is unnerving in numerous ways." She finally left her seat on the bed, walking towards him gracefully until her face was only a mere centimeters away from the Black Rose's to emphasize the point she was attempting to make. The witch looked blankly at the older man, who only stared back, the two engrossed in a staring contest.

By this time, the necromancer would have supplied a comeback to the statement, but his response was cut off when a muffled voice aroused from the other side of the door to his room, silencing both magicians to assure their secret meeting.

"Master Roswell," the masculine voice spoke with a flat tone, "It is time for your daily lessons."

Suppressing a sigh, the necromancer responded, "Yes, I will be there shortly. Thank you."

Accompanied by a short "yes", footsteps were heard until the muffled noises was near nonexistence, the tapping sound fading. Both roses let out a deep breath of relief, releasing oxygen they had subconsciously held from the near discovery of the meeting that was not meant to be. They were as sillent as skuttling mice, taken back by what had just abruptly - and randomly - occurred. The room was dull with no sound for a moment, the only noises that could be heard being the shuffling of feet and other movements from the surrounding rooms.

Realizing just how close Rosary was still, the man backed up, his chair harshly grinding against the floor from the impact. Grimacing slightly from the sound, the witch quickly removed herself from his personal space, looking almost disappointingly at the elder. The necromancer lightly bowed in apology.

"I'll have to leave now." He said, looking back up at the White Rose for a response of any kind.

She snorted, crossing her delicate arms again, "I can see that. I suppose I'll go back to the manor now." The mocha-haired girl summoned her lucky broom, preparing to leave the chambers through the locked window, which she approached to undo the latches.

"... Then until next time." Roswell replied, taking his leave after reaching for his cloak and hat, quickly putting them on with ease.

"Maybe there won't be a next time." Rosary retorted suddenly as a rather disturbing thought invaded her mind, twirling a strand of hair as she finished unlocking the latches. "… Maybe we'll be fighting when we see each other again."

He raised a brow. "Oh? What makes you think that?"

"Why are we training to be a witch or necromancer?" The White Rose started, "It's for our houses to be pitted against each other, isn't it? So what if we want to be magicians, it's all for the sake of overruling each other."

Roswell stayed silent for a moment, unmoving, but he spoke softly once he found his voice. "… It originally wasn't like that. Both houses normally didn't hate each other."

"I know that." Rosary snapped, dropping the hand that was tangled in her hair, "It's like fate. No matter what we do, it can't be changed. And most likely, this will never get straightened out unless one of us is elimina - "

" – killed." The Black Rose interrupted, not willing to listen to the unbearable words that could possibly occur in the future. _This is not how I wanted things to turn out today…_ "Yes, I understand that. But hopefully… it won't happen."

While her back was to him, the sound of the door creaking open then clicking shut was more than enough to inform her that he had left. Continuing to open the window, Rosary was just about to fly through the open space when she suddenly stopped. She looked back behind her shoulder, spying the leather book lying on the bed. It almost looked lonely in its own way, begging for her to take it with her. Almost.

Shaking her head, the White Rose turned her head back, raising her nose high to put about an air of superiority. With a huff, she flew up to the skies, back to the other side of the area where her own home, the manor, was located. During her short journey, she didn't bother to look back at the house she had just departed. Not even once.

* * *

A few hours had passed when Roswell finally came back to his chambers, satisfied with the knowledge he had been presented with that day. However, his merry attitude was crashed when the door to his room was fully swung open, revealing the sight before him.

The window was wide open, the dull curtains flowing with the soft breeze that came through the open space. It wasn't irking, not in the least – in fact, it was a rather comforting feeling, the warm breeze brushing against the necromancer's cheeks (which, in a sense, encouraged the man to consider opening his windows more often). But that was of least importance in Roswell's perspective, as his eyes landed on the dejected book, lying there as if nothing had happened.

… _So, she didn't take it after all._ He sighed, almost upset that Rosary had rejected what he had chosen to give to her. _It must be her pride. Taking anything from a Branthese household member will only cause trouble and unnecessary commotion back at her own manor. Tch._

Slowly, he strolled over to the forgotten novel, scooping it up with his left hand as the right one brushed against the soft cover. There was a faint bit of heat that emitted from it, most likely from Rosary's touch, despite how long it had been since she had even pressed a finger to it. He raised it, clutching it as a sweet aroma aroused from the smooth texture. He couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Ah…," he spoke to no one in particular, looking up at the ceiling with an unsure expression plastered onto his features, "If only this didn't bother me so much, maybe I could actually be happy with what I have in my hands now. … How ironic."

Taking the book, he marched back to his table, opening the petite drawer again as he dropped the object in his hands into the small wooden depths. He closed it, almost regrettably as a nagging feeling tugged at the back of his conscience. Rubbing his temples lightly, the necromancer made his way to the open window, leaning against the edge to feel the full blow of the soft breeze. And for a brief moment, it comforted him.

Except he didn't understand what was hurting him.

* * *

Fatigue was evident across the battlefield, cries of agony and despair arousing one after another as each and every foe in the path was slain. While it was not the doing of the White Rose of Esmeralda, she most certainly was a spectator in the civil war she was involved in. A feeling of relief washed over her as the Princess of Fantasinia, Yggdra Yuril Artwaltz, charged her rival's necromancers, with the aid of Milanor and Durant, followed with several other units such as Nietzsche. The nineteen year-old smiled smugly as Roswell's men fell one after another.

But the smile didn't feel _real_.

Suddenly frowning, Rosary shook her head, agitated with the feeling of unsatisfactory that invaded her thoughts. She bit her bright, full lips, ignoring the irking situation as she turned back to the battle, watching the Branthese's army fall.

_Ha. Even with the power of the Ankh he can't do stand up against a single army. A _proper_ magician could manage it to its full use – I suppose Roswell hasn't been keeping up with his lessons lately._ Her thought pattern was bitterer than she had intended it to be, but part of the context was true… Rosary was rather glad of the Black Rose's struggle; she felt superior at this moment.

Tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear, the White Rose observed the poor performance the necromancer put up, even though he had been doing well at the beginning. As more supporting magicians fell, Roswell's struggle was more evident. She couldn't help but feel conceited, though the nagging feeling constantly cut her cheers short. Then again, the battle technically wasn't too fair. After all, it was a matter of Roswell versus the Royal Liberation Army _and_ Rosary.

The idea of victory didn't seem as sweet anymore…

She scowled, unhappy to have had her joys of being rid of the House of Branthese crashed by none other than herself. The witch sighed disappointedly, deciding then to finally go into the battle personally besides firing the Ankh Cannon. Rosary flew with incredible speed, something she had built up on throughout the years and was proud of, soon making it to the grand battle sight within record time.

Milanor was charging the necromancer as Roswell warped away a few yards away, having the advantage as night had finally come. Being a person of profession in the art of the dead, Rosary knew well that the Black Rose's power was at its fullest in the dead of night, granted the privilege of warping (that being something Rosary found herself unable to do, therefore being envious of the man to an extent for his wide range of skills) as well as other abilities. Yggdra soon followed up with Durant in tow, and the necromancer was heavily outnumbered. There was no need for calculations; everyone knew Roswell would not win.

Rosary knew he would die. The thought didn't bother her in the slightest first, but the impression somewhat changed after a second thought. Mixed emotions rushed through her mind, causing her to wince slightly from the migraine as she shook it off by rubbing a temple with one hand, the other clutching onto her lucky broom.

A soft cry snapped her back to reality, and the White Rose looked back to the battle scene, only to see that Roswell was slightly limping with each step he took. _His leg or ankle must be injured._ She noted. Yet, she did not make any movement besides moving her head to watch the fight. She was too engrossed in the suspense to actually even participate in the fight herself. It would have been pointless to barge in, anyway, seeing as how the battle was already lost for the twenty-one years-old necromancer.

As he barely sidestepped a blow from Durant, words from one of their older conversations began to replay in her mind for no apparent reason, and she was in heavy confusion as well as bewilderment from it all.

_Then it's yours – my gift to you._

_I'm still waiting for that day, you know._

_Killed. But hopefully, it won't happen._

She hissed lowly, her fingers playing with the lace of her hat in an attempt to distract her from the sudden invasion of words of the past. Words that had meant nothing to her before but did now…

_This _can't_ be happening. I can't simply dwell in the past…! Not after all these years…_

Another cry cut her thoughts off. This time, Roswell was as still as stone, seemingly petrified on the ground he stood on. Until, that is, he began to fall forward with no means of supporting himself. Without hesitation or any consent on her part, the witch quickly flew to where he fell, much to the Royal Army's surprise as she leaped off of her broom to approach the fallen necromancer.

It was a sore understatement to say that he was just a mess. While the physical condition of his wasn't the best, what horrified Rosary the most was when she knelt beside him and rolled his limp form over with her hand supporting his sweaty head. The look he gave her was overwhelming, the light in his once glowing eyes leaving ever so slowly as unspoken feelings of failure and loss of hope reflected within the dulling orbs. Rosary recognized the meanings immediately.

_It's what I feared of losing myself; my life, my people, my beliefs, my hope…_

Despite the terrible condition of his, Roswell was still alive and clinging to dear life as his eyes shifted to look directly into Rosary's own peach ones. A mask had always covered what the necromancer truly felt as part of his manipulative schemes, but such virtual defense had been shunned, and he wore his emotions blatantly in those blue eyes of his. They were sad, so sad to the point Rosary wanted nothing more than to shut them closed.

"D-don't look at me like that." She muttered, almost begging as Roswell continued to glare at her in such fashion. "I said don't look at me like that!…" Her throat felt like a knot, twisted and turning as she felt the need to cry. But she refused to, her pride rejected her from taking such normal action.

And for that moment, she hated herself for it, for not being able to express her weakness.

_It's only natural to show vulnerability. Then… how come I can't show my own…?_

The breaths Roswell took were uneven and rushed, though he managed to muster up some last words for the witch to hear. "Ro… sary…"

She immediately looked down at him, her eyes glued to his despite not wanting to look at the unbearably sad orbs. "Yes?"

He went into a certain topic as the thought reoccurred to him. "Rosary… Do you… still want that book…?"

Rosary's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What? What book…?" Realization hit her as she suppressed a gasp. "You mean… _that_ one?"

The Black Rose nodded. "Yes… It is still there… if you want it… in the drawer..."

Shamelessly, the witch nodded repeatedly, almost desperately as she looked down at the dying man. He wasn't finished yet. There was little more to be said than what already was.

"… I… - " He coughed weakly, and Rosary's grip on his head slightly tightened in existence. "I'm… I'm sorry…"

"_Why_?" The White Rose cried, losing all control over herself as she shook him rather roughly, to the man's dismay, "_Why_ are you sorry? There's no need to apologize!"

"…. …. …."

Her eyes slightly widened as another thought began to strike her. "… Roswell?" She received no response of any kind. "Branthese…!" Nothing. He was gone, just like that.

Roswell of the Branthese House was dead.

Closing her eyes, the witch reached for his face with her other available hand that was not supporting his completely limp head, brushing against his eyelids as she shut them softly. Yggdra and the others only watched in silence as Rosary laid the body on the ground, getting up as she looked down blankly at the form beneath her. Only a few words crossed her mind repeatedly, never ceasing until much later a day later.

* * *

_I won't say I loved you. That's only going to hurt us more. I don't even know how I feel about this anymore, in all honesty. But all I will say is that… I'm sorry too. For everything. If I hadn't been so blinded by greed by the power of the Ankhs, maybe none of this would have happened… I suppose fate has reigned its wrath down upon us like we had so loosely discussed about in the past. If only we both hadn't been so stubborn about overruling each others house…_

_Roswell? I'm going to retrieve that book. I should have taken it that day four years ago, but I didn't. So, I'm going now._

_Thank you._


End file.
